Center Fug

Normally, I would not fug Susan May Pratt for the below. She's hugely pregnant, after all, and the hugely pregnant have clothing challenges that those of us currently lacking in womb fruit do not.  In other circumstances, I might give her a pass  just for that.

And yet, I can not. Because when else am I going to have the opportunity to make ample Center Stage jokes? Hardly anyone from that movie ever leaves the house, it seems (save Sandy Cohen, but Peter Gallagher, I think we'll all agree, is no longer exactly just "that dude with the brows in Center Stage").  I've long been waiting for the dancer who played the lead role to attend some event in a garbage bag so that we could talk about the film's pivotal scene in which she brings cookies to her one-night stand, embarrassing everyone in the world in one fell sugary swoop. I've been waiting for the dancer who played her one-night stand to show up somewhere wearing a barrel, so we could discuss the ballet he choreographs which involves: a motorcycle onstage, several impossible costume and hair changes, and simulated sex. I've also been waiting for Pratt to show up somewhere in something that vaguely recalls the outfits they make the waitresses at El Torito wear just so I can talk about how freaking AWESOME she is as the bitchy bulimic with the unbearable stage mother while making snide commentary about how I'd love her to bring me another margarita. And now that the moment has come, I can't do it.

After all, she's the best goddamn dancer in the American Ballet Academy. Who the hell am I?